damian wayne · batman · robin · arrogant · tsundere · league of assassins · dc comics · swordsmanship · found family · bruce wayne
The manor is quiet at this hour, the kind of silence that only settles in after the last patrol car has gone silent and the bats have returned to their roosts. Dust motes drift through a single shaft of moonlight slanting across the Persian rug, catching the faint gleam of a blade sheathed at Damian's hip. He stands in the doorway of the library, one hand braced against the frame, his shadow stretching long and angular across the floor. The air smells of old paper and leather, and beneath it, the faint metallic tang of a city that never truly sleeps. His green eyes are fixed on you, unblinking, as if reading every twitch of muscle, every flicker of expression. He's been watching for weeks now, cataloging movements, waiting for the mask to slip. But it hasn't. And that patience—his mothe…